Chapter 22 The Cringeworthy Chaos
the cringeworthy chaos [trope]
maybe not a classic trope but a personal favorite of this author; it’s that deliciously embarrassing moment that has everyone laughing… and low-key wishing they could disappear
“Who are you seeing?” I ask Ethan as he shoves a water bottle into the side pocket of his backpack.
“Jace,” he says, the word clipped. Noticing the tilt of my head, he stops to look at me. “Can you please meet him before you judge him?”
“I’m not judging him,” I lie, crossing my arms.
“You’re judging him,” he says flatly.
“I’m just—”
“You know,” Ethan interrupts, “Grandma used to call Mom a troublemaker, too.”
I hand him his cap with an eye roll. He’s right. Grandma always has something to say about people, and it’s rarely positive. “I’d feel better if I met him.”
“And I’d feel better if you trusted me,” he says, slinging the blue backpack over his shoulder. When I give him an insistent look, he groans. “We’ll see.”
He takes a step, then turns around and gives me and my towel a once-over. “Unless you want me to stay?” he says half-heartedly. “If you don’t have any plans or—”
If it wasn’t for the pity laced in his voice, I’d be touched. “I have plans,” I lie. “I’m going out.”
“Date?”
“Sure.” Actually, since privacy will take a new form now that Ethan is staying here, I have some vibrating plans for tonight. But I’m afraid he’ll ask about Rafael, and I’m not ready to talk about it. “And you talked to Grandma about staying here?”
“Yes.” He pulls his dark blond hair to all sides as he checks his reflection in the mirror. “I told her that since she’s shipping me off to Virginia, I want to spend time with you. She bought it.”
“Good. Good.” I fidget with the hem of my towel.
He exhales, the sound heavy with finality. “I’m going.”
“Wait. Let me give you a set of keys.” I dart toward the bedroom and open the bedside drawer, a mess of receipts, loose coins, and random junk. The doorbell rings as I grab the spare keys, and my head jerks up.
“Hey, man.”
Oh, fuck. That voice…
“Hi. Come in,” Ethan says casually.
“Thanks. Is your sister here?”
No, no, no. My legs feel like lead as I inch toward the hallway.
“She’s just getting ready,” Ethan answers.
I bolt from the bedroom just in time to see Rafael step into the living room in a dark purple crewneck over a crisp white dress shirt, which would almost look preppy if it wasn’t for the black tattoos along his fingers and up his wrists.
Ethan points at the menu he’s holding. “Are you guys ordering Chinese again? I thought you were going out.”
Too fucking late.
Rafael’s eyes meet mine. His expression shifts from mild confusion to something sharper, his gaze flicking over the towel wrapped around me and back to my face. His lips curve into a thin, tight smile. “We’re going out?”
“Uh, no.” My voice is too loud, too quick, as I shove the keys into Ethan’s hand. Seriously, did Rafael have to show up now?
“What?” Ethan’s brows draw together, his head turning to me, then to Rafael, then back again. “Who’s taking you on a date, then?”
Goddamn it. My laugh comes out awkward, forced. I wave vaguely toward the door. “You were leaving, weren’t you?”
“But—”
“Be back by midnight, please.”
Ethan mutters something under his breath and, with one last glance at me and Rafael, heads out, closing the door behind him.
Silence falls over the room, heavy and oppressive, until Rafael clears his throat. “You’re going out with someone else? I thought we’d cleared the air.”
“We did, yes. I just—”
“Who is it? Theo?”
I pause. Why does he make it sound like the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard? “Theo is an amazing guy, okay? And you don’t know him, or our relationship.”
“You’re right. I don’t. So why don’t you tell me about it?”
“Because I don’t owe you any explanation. We’re going to work the case together, and that’s it.”
“Yeah, you’re not working the case.”
I watch the anger playing on his face, and my jaw clenches. “Because I’m going out with someone? Are you that petty?”
“Because you’re not trained,” he bites out. “And I need to catch this killer, not babysit you.”
Babysit me? My hands clench at the edges of the towel. He wouldn’t even know what the hell happened with the latest murder if it wasn’t for me.
“You can hate me for the rest of your life, Scarlett, but I will never put you in danger. Ever. If that means you go on a date with someone else, then have the best fucking night.”
“Oh, I will!”
He looks like he’s about to argue but stops himself. Instead, he reaches into his back pocket, the hem of his shirt shifting, and pulls out a small box. He sets it on the coffee table with a frown, his rings clacking lightly against the wood. “I got you this. It’s a tracking device.”
I blink. “What?”
“For Sherlock.” He steps away. “There’s a camera on it, too. I figured you could use it to see how he’s getting out of the house and track him when he sneaks out.”
A mix of anger and warmth spreads through my chest. I haven’t let Sherlock out of my sight since yesterday, but knowing I can’t keep watching him that closely forever has left me anxious and worried. And Rafael just knew.
God, it pisses me off.
“You don’t get to do this,” I say, rushing to the door just as he opens it. My heart is pounding in my chest, stress hunching my shoulders. “I’m not the bad guy here, and you don’t get to act like I dumped you.”
“But that’s what happened, isn’t it?” he says, spinning around to face me on the porch.
“No. You lied—”
“Fuck that, Scarlett. You’re scared,” he interrupts, his voice rising just enough to cut me off. His eyes burn into mine, and I feel exposed, laid bare. “Just admit it. You’re terrified of the way you feel, and you’re taking the easy way out.”
“How dare you!”
He looks away, jaw set. “Yeah, you know what? Now that I think about it, you and Theo would make a great couple.”
“Yes, we would.”
He clicks his tongue. “Too bad you have feelings for me.”
“Yeah, it’s too—” I clamp my mouth shut as he mock-gasps.
“Gotcha,” he says before he turns around and walks away.
“You arrogant jackass—” I shout, stepping forward, but something jerks me back sharply, and I stumble, my back slamming against the door with a thud.
What the hell just happened?
He turns back, confused at first, but when his eyes drop to my waist, his lips curve into a slow, smug smile.
Oh no.
I follow his gaze and realize what’s happened. My towel—the one barely clinging to my body—is caught in the door. The shut, locked door.
Are you fucking kidding me?
Heat crawls up my neck as I frantically try to yank the towel free, but it doesn’t budge. Worse, the motion makes the towel shift precariously lower. I force myself to meet Rafael’s gaze, though the grin tugging at his lips makes me want to crawl into a hole.
“Well, then,” I say, attempting nonchalance. “Bye.”
“Bye?” he mocks, his voice dripping with amusement. “You sure you want me to go?”
I lift my chin, willing myself to act like nothing is wrong. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
“All right.” He studies me for a beat and then, with a shrug, turns to leave. “If you say so.”
I bite my lip, conflicted. I don’t want to ask him for help, but I’m stuck. Literally stuck. “Wait!” The word bursts out of me before I can stop it. “I need—I need help.”
He pauses, slowly turning back to face me, a delighted sparkle in his eyes. “Really?” he says with pretend surprise. “With what?”
“You know with what.”
“Hmm.” He tilts his head. “I don’t, actually.”
I glare, seething. “My towel is stuck in the door. Which is still better than being a small… petty… bitter man.”
“Is it, though?” he says, chuckling. He walks toward me but veers off toward the side of the house.
“What are you doing?” I call after him, twisting to see where he’s going.
“I’m going to climb through the bathroom window and open the door from the inside,” he says, as if it’s the most reasonable plan in the world.
“No, wait!” I blurt, my voice cracking. My stomach drops as I picture the scene awaiting him: my pink vibrator sitting on the vanity, bold and unavoidable. “You can’t go in.”
He stops, turning back with a confused expression. “Why not?”
“Uh…” My brain scrambles for an excuse. “The house is a mess. Really, you’ll trip over something.”
His brow arches, his interest clearly piqued. “Scarlett, if you don’t tell me the truth, I can’t help you.”
“There’s nothing to say.” I swallow hard as he steps onto the porch, closing the distance between us and sending my heart into a frenzy. “Just, uh, pull the towel free,” I say, trying to sound confident.
He leans in, his arm sliding behind me, his body only inches from mine.
His scent—maddeningly cozy and warm—sends a spark racing through me.
“The only way you’re getting free without me entering your house,” he says, his breath tickling the skin of my cheek, “is by dropping the towel. Which I’m more than okay with. ”
My face flames at the suggestion, and I shift uncomfortably. His proximity, the heat radiating off him, the stupidly hot nose ring—it’s too much.
“Stop flirting with me,” I snap, though my voice is weaker than I’d like.
He shakes his head, a teasing spark in his eyes. “Tell me why I can’t go inside.”
I hesitate, my pride warring with my desperation. Finally, I crack. “I was going to… you know, use my vibrator in the shower, and it’s on the vanity.”
For a moment, he looks genuinely taken aback. Then his grin returns, bigger and brighter than before. “Before a date?”
“Well, it’s not like I’m going to sleep—”
I grimace the second the words leave my mouth, but it’s too late; his laugh, rich and low, rumbles between us. “With Theo? Right. Why would you ever?”
“That’s not what I meant,” I huff. “Leave Theo out of this, please.”
Another car drives by, and I tug the towel up higher, trying to preserve the last shred of my dignity. “Can you help me now?”
“Sure,” Rafael says, far too smug. Instead of walking away, he steps closer, his chest only inches away from the hand I’m using to hold the towel. “As soon as you admit it.”
“Admit what?”
“That I’m the only man in your life.”
My eyes flick to his lips, then away. He leans in, my knuckles brushing against his sweater. “That I’m the only man you want to kiss. The only man you want to fuck.”
My throat constricts, my heart pounding painfully against my ribs. I force myself to meet his gaze, but it’s like trying to stare down a storm. “That’s not all that matters, Rafael.”
Expression softening, he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “Then admit that your heart doesn’t beat for anyone else the way it beats for me.”
For a split second, I know it’s true. No one has ever made me feel like this, like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, one breath away from falling, yet also like I’ve finally found my footing. “Please, just… open the door.”
I think I see it. See the fight in him die, see him decide he’s over this. Over apologizing and opening his heart to me. With a sad, crooked smile, he says, “Whatever you want, Freckles,” and stalks around the house without another word.
I wait a few unbearable seconds, wondering if what I feel is relief or regret. Then the door opens behind me, and I stumble back into freedom. “All set,” he says, stepping out. “Enjoy your date.”